


A Supernatural Fight Club

by aneurysmface



Category: Fight Club, Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-20
Updated: 2012-04-20
Packaged: 2017-11-04 00:05:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/387449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aneurysmface/pseuds/aneurysmface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Sam are investigating what they think is a case when Dean accidentally end up in the midst of a Fight Club meeting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Supernatural Fight Club

There had been a string of bodies turning up in the area. Bodies that had been beaten, broken, bloodied, and left for trash in alleyways and back streets. It wasn't the sort of thing they'd usually investigate, but with nothing linking the bodies to each other and with the other strange things happening in the region lately (lightning storms that were unusual for the season, cattle deaths, and theft of human fat from a liposuction clinic) Bobby had thought it was a good idea for them to take a look.

That's how Sam and Dean ended up in a bar having a drink late one night.

“Hey, I've gotta hit the head. I'll be back in a minute.” Sam says, downing the last of his beer and standing.

Dean nods, taking a swig from his own bottle. He takes a look around the bar. Most of the guys are Average Joes. They don't stand out from each other all that much. His eyes wander until they land on a brunet guy in a red leather jacket. He walks around like he owns the place, though he doesn't look like he could even afford to own the clothes he's wearing. There's a cut under his left eye and he's got a split lip that's just starting to heal. He looks like a pretty good suspect for whatever's been leaving bodies behind.

Dean takes another swig of his beer and walks over to the guy. He doesn't get one word out before Red Leather Jacket sticks his hand in Dean's.

“You're new around here. That's good, we're always looking for new faces.”

Dean grins and plays along, “Yeah, yeah. I'm looking forward to it.”

“Where's that tall guy you came in with? The behemoth.” Red Leather Jacket still hasn't let go of Dean's hand. His grip is tight and Dean's starting to lose feeling in his fingers.

“Jimmy? He's just takin' a piss.”

Red Leather Jacket nods. “I'm Tyler, by the way. Tyler Durden.”

“Mike, Mike Tomlinson.”

“Well, Mike,” Tyler says the name with a leer, like he knows it's not Dean's real name, “we're about to get started. If you friend, Jimmy, right?” Dean nods. “Well, if Jimmy isn't back by the time we start, he's just going to miss out on the fun.”

“I'm sure he'll be back.” Dean smiles with just a hint of teeth.

A few moments pass and still no sign of Sam. Then Tyler hops up on a table and whistles, getting the attention of everyone in the bar.

“Everybody downstairs.”

There's no talk as every person in the bar heads to the back door. Still no Sam, but Dean figures he should keep up appearances and follows the crowd. There's a rickety staircase and a dark basement. There's a hum and then the lights come on and Dean has to blink. Everybody's standing in a circle with Tyler in the middle.

“Now, you all know why you're here. I just want to know who's never been here before. I see a few unfamiliar faces already. Mike, Sean, Jack, if you could step forward.” Tyler raises a hand and waves Dean in to the middle of the circle. He looks around, unsure of what's going on.

“Since you're new, I'm going to explain a few of our rules to you.” Tyler wraps an arm around Dean's shoulders, “Rule one: you do not talk about Fight Club. Rule two: you DO NOT talk about Fight Club.”

Dean listens idly to the next few, rules covering the limits to the fights, but his ears perk up when Tyler leans in to him and speaks.

“Rule eight: if this is your first night at Fight Club, you HAVE to fight.”

Dean swallows. He's a good fighter, but some of these guys looked like they could break him in half without trying.

“Mike, it's your first night so you'll be fighting. Now, normally I'd put you up against somebody like Ricky over there,” Tyler points to a tall, dark-haired guy with eyes blue enough to rival Cas', “But tonight I've got some extra energy, so you can fight me instead.”

A murmur goes around the circle and a few guys smile wickedly. Tyler shucks his jacket and Dean takes a second to admire the lines of muscle that run fluidly down his arms and across his back. Tyler nods at him and Dean takes off his own jacket and over shirt.

The circle tightens around them, making a solid barrier. Dean swallows hard, knowing this fight is going to be brutal. Tyler clearly does this quite a bit, judging by his scars and bruises.

They circle each other for a moment, each sizing the other up. Dean makes the mistake of relaxing for a second and Tyler makes his move. A solid right connects with Dean's jaw and makes his head spin. He shakes it off with a smirk. A faked left, a faked right, and a left uppercut that leaves Tyler sprawled on the floor. Tyler retaliates by kicking Dean's feet out from under him.

They trade fists, elbows, and kicks until Tyler splits open Dean's eyebrow and the blood starts sliding into his eye. Dean swings wildly at Tyler's face and hears the satisfying crack that means a broken nose. The growl Tyler lets out in response sends a shiver up Dean's spine; it sounds inhuman. His moment of pause is enough time for Tyler to deliver his hardest blow yet right to Dean's temple. As he's going down, a kick lands hard enough on his kidney that the last thing he thinks about before his vision fades out is that he'll be pissing blood for at least a week.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

He wakes up feeling like he did after that time Alistair beat the crap out of him so bad he'd ended up in the hospital. He opens his eyes and blinks a few times, his vision goes from blurry to clear enough that he can make out the figure sitting next to him.

“Oh, good. You're awake.”

Tyler.

“I thought I might've gone a little too hard for a second there.”

“Yeah, well, I'm tougher than I look.” Dean grimaces at how hoarse his voice is. Tyler puts something cold in his hand. Dean looks at it; water. He takes a long swallow and that first wave of liquid down his throat feels better than anything else in the world.

“I'll say. I broke three fingers taking you down. And that uppercut of yours has me missing a chunk of my tongue.” Tyler sticks out his tongue and Dean can see the ragged edge of muscle where Tyler's teeth must've gone through it.

“M'not sorry.”

“I don't expect you to be. That was a damn good fight.” Tyler smirks at Dean.

“Where am I, anyway?”

“My place. We couldn't just leave you there, so Bob carried you back.”

“Remind me to thank him.” Dean yawns and it splits open his lip again. He catches the way Tyler's eyes drop to the blood welling up there and the way Tyler's own tongue sides out to wet his lips when Dean licks the blood away. He smirks, he's found a weak spot in Tyler's façade.

Dean knows that look. He's been around the proverbial block more than a few times, even though none of those trips were particularly recent. He still knows what it means when somebody looks at you like that. And damn, if he'd felt better, he might've taken Tyler up on that unspoken offer.

“Later, when you're better.” Tyler says with a wink, “Besides, I've got some business to attend to.”

Tyler pats a part of Dean's arm that's remarkably unbruised as he gets up and walks out. Dean swallows hard and groans at the painful sensation the action causes in his abdomen. Jesus, that guy knew all the right spots to hurt somebody.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Dean spends two more days confined to the bed outside of assisted trips to the bathroom. He still got blurry vision when he stood for the first time without Ricky's help. He's doing alright now, though. He's sitting in a chair in the kitchen while some of the guys made what looked like soap. He was still treating his jaw with a bag of frozen peas because the swelling hindered his ability to eat. He looks up from the soap-making enterprise when Tyler plunks himself down in the chair next to his own.

“So, what's this all about? Why are a bunch of tough guys making soap in a house that looks like it could fall apart any second?”

“Because we can. Haven't you ever done anything just because you _could_?”

Dean smirks softly before he answers, “Not in a long time.”

Tyler's face is pensive for a moment, then he claps his hands on the table, “I've got it. Can you stand?”

Dean just looks at him.

“What? You said you hadn't done anything just because you could in a while, so we're going to do something.”

“Tyler, look, I appreciate the offer, but--”

“Nothing like that, geez. No, you're going to help us make soap.”

“What?” Dean was honestly confused as to how Tyler expected him to do that, “I've never done anything like this _ever_.”

“And neither had they.” Tyler gestures to the men hard at work, “C'mon. Consider it earning your keep.”

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Tyler walks Dean through the soap-making process. He shows Dean which chemicals to mix, when to mix them, and how much he needed. They make the first batch together. When Dean mixes everything together, Tyler steps up behind him and wraps his arms around Dean, showing him the correct motion. Dean swallows, determined not to show what this kind of contact is doing to him after so long without it. He can feel every inch of the muscular frame pressed to his back. And that definitely isn't Tyler's phone in his pocket.

“Just nice and easy. You don't want to stir too fast, it'll mess up the consistency.” Tyler's breath tickles the outer shell of Dean's ear as he speaks.

Dean just nods, focusing on following the instructions.

The first batch actually turns out pretty well. Dean's feels a bit proud of himself and Tyler asks if he's up for making another batch. Dean pleads out, saying that he isn't sure he can stand that long—he's getting tired already. Tyler just smirks and walks with Dean back to the table. Tyler sneaks in a few none-too-subtle gropes along the short trip. Dean can't even bring himself to mind. It's been a long time since he had somebody like Tyler—an actual, physical match for Dean—show any sort of interest in him.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

They make soap together for the next couple of days. Dean feels more like himself every time he finishes a batch. He feels like he has a purpose again, instead of being laid up in bed and useless. He waits for Tyler to make another move on him patiently. He knows it will happen, it's just a matter of how long Tyler will wait.

Tyler waits three days.

It's late, really late, “do you know where your spouse is” late and Tyler has long since ordered the other guys (his lackeys? Dean isn't quite sure what they are, exactly) to get some sleep. He'd insisted that he and Dean could finish the last few commissioned batches by themselves. Which mean that he and Tyler were alone, really _alone_ , for the first time since Dean had woken up. There was no threat of an interruption, nobody who might walk in and ask for the next set of instructions for whatever this “Project Mayhem” was, just him and Tyler.

It's Tyler who moves first, spreading the last of his batch of soap onto a tray. He finishes, then walks up behind Dean, like the first time he showed Dean how to make soap. He reaches around Dean to “help” again, but this time, Tyler rocks gently against Dean in time to music that Dean can't hear. Dean can feel Tyler's dick start to get hard from the friction. Dean swallows and continues what he's doing. Tyler slides one hand from where it was resting on Dean's shoulder down to cup Dean through his (borrowed) jeans. Dean moans when Tyler pops the button and undoes the fly so he can slide his hand inside the fabric. Tyler works Dean up for the remaining few minutes that it takes Dean to finish his tray. Dean won't give Tyler the satisfaction of having made him quit. Dean turns when he finishes and sees Tyler grinning at him.

“I can't do this standing up.” Is all Dean says. His still-healing body isn't quite ready for rough wall and/or table sex just yet.

“Go wait in my room. I've got to do one last check.”

Dean nods. Tyler slides both hands over Dean's ass and pulls him in for one of the dirtiest kisses of Dean's life and it leaves him _wanting_. “Go. I'll be up in no time.”

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Dean had barely undressed when Tyler waltzes into the room, all sway and bravado. He swallows hard when Tyler starts sliding off his clothes in a scandalous—even by Dean's standards—striptease. Dean is ready and leaking when Tyler finally finishes and climbs into bed on top of him.

“Hey there, big boy.” Tyler says, near enough to Dean's lips that Dean feels the smirk instead of seeing it. Dean's about to reply but Tyler rolls his hips and all Dean can manage to do is press his head back against the shitty mattress and groan.

“Fuck, Tyler.”

“Yes, that's what I'm trying to accomplish.” Tyler reaches over Dean to a small shelf mounted on the wall above the bed. He rummages around for a second, still moving his hips against Dean's before he makes a small noise of victory and drops a condom and a half-empty bottle of lube on the bed.

Tyler picks up the lube first, drizzling it onto his fingers. He straightens up a bit from his position astride Dean and reaches behind himself. Tyler slips in one finger and quickly follows it with another, moaning softly as he barely brushes his own prostate.

Dean's got one hand on his own dick, stroking gently as he watches the show in front of him. Tyler's eyes aren't quite shut all the way and ever so often, Dean catches a glimpse of blue in the dim light. He knows the exact moment that Tyler adds a third finger because he can see the muscles in Tyler's abdomen contract and his cock twitches.

Then suddenly Tyler's hands are both in front of him, tearing open the condom packet and reaching down to roll it onto Dean's cock. He positions himself carefully and slides down agonizingly slow. Dean fists his hands into the sheets and lets out a soft litany of curses until Tyler is flush against his hips again.

They stay still for a ten-count, each adjusting to the new sensations before Tyler shifts against Dean. He starts slow with choppy, uncoordinated movements, but finds a rhythm that is somewhere just shy of the pace Dean wants. When he tries to encourage Tyler's movements, Tyler just pins Dean's hands to the bed above his head.

“Ugh, Tyler, you're...you're killin' me here.” Dean pushes his hips on on Tyler's next slide down and the sound Tyler makes sends a current of _needwantfuck_ straight to Dean's dick.

Tyler reaches down and starts stroking himself in time to his movements on Dean's dick and Dean makes a noise deep in the back of his throat that's almost feral and snaps his hips up heard. He meets Tyler motion for motion now and he basks in the sight of Tyler's mouth hanging open, head tilted back and eyes closed. Dean reaches out and trails a hand down Tyler's abs, ending the journey by wrapping it around Tyler's cock.

“Come for my, Tyler.” Dean says and strokes Tyler's dick hard once, twice, and on the third down-stroke, Tyler comes hard, crying out at the sensation. His muscles tighten deliciously around Dean and that's enough to send Dean over the edge after him.

They lay without moving until the come on Dean's stomach becomes uncomfortably cool. Tyler must sense his discomfort because the exact moment Dean opens his mouth to say something is when Tyler rolls off him and grabs a dirty towel from the floor next to the bed. He slides the condom off Dean and wipes them both down before reaching to the bedside trashcan and tossing it away.

They don't hold on to each other after, but they both fall asleep quickly.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Dean is woken in the morning by a loud slamming noise. He looks over toward the door and spots Sam standing in the doorway.

“Dean?”

“Uh...hey, Sammy?” Dean offers weakly, aware that he is stark naked in bed with another man in a room that reeks of sex and that Sam is smart enough to put it all together.

“Look, whatever. Just get dressed so we can get going.”

Dean nods and gestures for Sam to turn around before he slides out from under the thin sheet over his hips. Tyler is still sleeping, but Dean figures he must be used to noise, living in a house like this. He slips on pants and a shirt, both still Tyler's, and makes for the door.

He doesn't think of Tyler again until his picture ends up on the news for having been the mastermind behind the destruction of a good chunk of the U.S. credit industry.

Dean can't honestly say he's surprised. He may not have known Tyler long, but it seemed like a very _Tyler_ thing to do.


End file.
